by Brent Coffey
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Hear me out,” she said. “It doesn’t matter who pays for this surgery as long as it benefits Bruce. And your guys can have the hospital loaded with security when he’s operated on, to make sure that nothing happens to him, and he’ll still get better. That sounds like a winning plan to me.”
“You want us to carry out a sting operation with your husband under the knife?” Richard asked incredulously.
“Damn straight.”
Both Richard and Bruce bolted upright in their seats. Richard had known Martha for over ten years and had never heard her curse before. Bruce had known her for over thirty and was even more surprised, given her strict Catholicism.
“Damn straight,” she continued, “I’m willing to take this chance. My husband won’t have many years left, if he doesn’t get this operation. And what years he’ll have will be miserable. So, yes, I’m willing to put his life in God’s hands, not only for his sake, but also for August’s sake. For our future child’s sake.”
Bruce welled up with tears, fighting to hold them back. August was theirs, Martha had confirmed it, and truth of the boy’s belonging in their home sank in.
“Martha…” Richard tried again.
“No, she’s right, Richard. I’ve got to do it. I trust Dr. Sandefur to perform the operation, and as long as your people are nearby then the Adelaides will have difficulty interfering. If I come through this okay, then maybe we’ll have some negotiating ground with the mob. And I’ll certainly be in better health.”
“You can’t seriously think that Gabriel Adelaide wants to help you!” Richard shouted. “Bruce, he’s planning to kill you! Don’t you see that? He wants you sedated and unconscious so he can sneak in your room and murder you. He may smother you with a pillow, slip something in your IV drip, or, hell, he may just strangle you. He’s going to kill you when you’re in a hospital bed totally defenseless. Be reasonable!”
“I know perfectly well what he’s up to, and I know he’ll try to kill me, which is why I only want Dr. Sandefur to operate on me. Trust me, I know her, and she’s not one of them. She’s playing for our team. Also, I want all medications that I’m to be given before, during, and after my surgery to be looked at by your guys in the lab, to make sure that they check out. Otherwise, Adelaide could slip me a mickey. And I want your people stationed outside my door at all times, with only those from an approved list of visitors admitted into my room. If we organize, Richard, we can do this. Martha’s right. I can have this surgery on the mob’s dime and actually benefit from it.”
Richard gazed at the determined stares of Bruce and Martha and surprised himself by wondering if their plan could actually work.
“I’m not sure there’s money in our budget to station guards outside your hospital room for as long as you’ll be there,” Richard said, trying one last time to talk Bruce out of this. “The force is nearly broke, and we can’t bring on any temps for this job.”
“I’ll call Judge Parker,” Bruce offered, “and explain that Gabriel Adelaide is plotting some sort of retaliation against me. If you confirm my story, the Judge will order the county to pay your guys’ overtime under the Prosecutorial Protection Act. You don’t have to worry that protecting me will break the bank. It won’t.”
Richard was defeated, and he knew it. He sighed deeply, releasing a long and exhausted breath. He took the check back from Martha and silently read it again. $44,000… sure is a hell of a lot of money. Whatever the Adelaides are planning may work to our advantage, if Bruce gets his surgery paid for and makes it out of that hospital alive.
“Okay,” Richard agreed. “I’m in. Let’s do this.”
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On the way home, neither Bruce nor Martha spoke. They rode silently in their aging Volvo, each lost in thought, though their thoughts were similar. They both looked forward to Bruce finally being healthy. They both worried about August and wondered what this surgery meant for their chances of adopting him. They tried not to think about August being with Gabe. There were too many frightening possibilities that sprang to mind from that scenario. In their fear for August’s safety and their excitement over Bruce’s upcoming surgery, neither thought of calling Sara to inform her that August had been kidnapped.
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Gabe kissed her panties, and then he kissed her through her panties. She moaned. He kissed her faster, and she moaned louder. The girl, dark haired, pale skinned, too thin, and twenty-three, drew a respectable hourly profit for the Adelaides, but her services for Gabe were on the house. She lay flat on her back on Gabe’s bed with nothing on but her pink socks and matching panties, and he continued aggressively kissing her, with his head buried in her crotch and his boner threatening to split the seam of his boxers. It’d been days since he’d been laid, and he was determined to fix that deficit by making a deposit. Of himself. He’d sent August outside to play, telling him that he needed to have a “conversation” with his “friend.” He didn’t let up, and neither did she. He needed her to feel it, and he needed to hear her to know that she was feeling it. She didn’t disappoint. He enjoyed the sound of her earthy expressions, indicating he was pure animal in this moment. She sighed. She groaned. She moaned. She cried.
She cried?
He stopped kissing her and looked up from her crotch. She wasn’t crying. He paused, listened, and distinctly heard crying. Before he could ask, “Do you hear that?” August opened the apartment’s bedroom door in tears. Gabe and his “friend” were caught off guard, and he moved quickly to keep their “conversation” private. He threw a sheet over the girl’s body, covering everything but her left boob, and hurriedly stepped into his khakis, hopping on one foot to yank them up. Equally surprised, August paused from crying long enough to see his first boob. He blushed… but he didn’t look away.
“I told you to play outside!” Gabe shouted in embarrassment, thankful he hadn’t stripped off his boxers.
“I was! But then, but then…” August was too upset to catch his breath… “but, but then he took him!”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“He took Zoggy!”
“Who did?”
“This big kid outside! He took Zoggy!”
The tears from August’s eyes mingled with the snot from his nose and combined to make salty slush tracks on his shirt sleeve, as he ran the side of his arm across his face.
“So go get him back already, dammit to hell!”
The kid’s crying was a total boner killer.
“I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?”
“He pushed me, and he’s bigger,” August reported, with fear and shame.
“For God’s sake, August,” Gabe said, putting on his shirt, shoving on his shoes, and then leading August out of the room by his shoulder, “your chicken shit is pissing me off.”
Outside, Gabe spotted the boy who’d taken Zoggy. The boy looked about seven or eight, was a good four inches taller and about thirty pounds heavier than August, and he wore clothes that obviously hadn’t been washed or changed in days. Next to the kid was an older looking man whose face was worn and haggard from being outside too long. The man’s age was hard to guess. The kid belonged with the man, and the man pushed a stolen shopping cart filled with garbage bags and junk, as they slowly walked down the sidewalk in front of Gabe’s apartment complex. When the kid saw Gabe and August, he quickly tossed Zoggy in the shopping cart and tried to hide him between a large coffee can full of change and a portable grill.
Gabe, dragging August by the shoulder, walked in front of the shopping cart, stopping the man and his boy.
“Your kid has something that belongs to him,” Gabe said, shaking August’s shoulder to point out the “him” in question.
“No,” the man said in a wheezy voice and making knowing eye contact with his boy, “I don’t believe Pete has anything dat ain’t his.”
>
“I think he does have something that ain’t his. It’s a toy animal, and it belongs to this kid.”
“That can’t be. Everything in this cart belongs to us.”
“You can’t be fucking serious. That cart doesn’t even belong to you, old man. August, reach in there and get your toy.”
August didn’t move. The boy stayed beside the man, and the two of them shot August menacing glances.
“August, I said reach in there and get your toy.”
Seconds later, and much louder…
“August, what in the fuck are you waiting for? Reach in that goddamn cart and get your toy! Now, August!”
“Your kid ain’t got not right to go through our stuff!” the homeless looking man shouted.
Gabe stuffed a hand in his left pants pocket and pulled up just enough of his Glock 26’s grip to be visible only to the man: the boy was too short to see it, and August wasn’t facing Gabe. When he saw the gun, the man’s breathing paused, and he immediately stopped protesting.
“August, I’m only telling you this one more time. Reach in that cart and get your toy,” Gabe repeated, dropping his pistol grip back out of sight.
August saw fear overtake the man’s face, and he heard the confidence in Gabe’s voice. August took a timid stop forward and placed a meek hand on the cart’s back to pull himself over the metal wiring and hunt for Zoggy.
“You can’t do that!” the boy shouted at August.
“Let him be, Pete!” the old man ordered, not taking his eyes off Gabe’s left pocket.
“No, dad! He can’t do that! This stuff is ours!”
The boy sprinted away from the man and planted himself between August and the cart.
“Pete!” the old man cried out, reaching for him too late to stop him.
“That’s fine,” Gabe said, sending an icy glance the old man’s way. “If your boy wants to fight, then let ‘em fight.”
August let go of the cart and backed away. He didn’t want to fight. The boy now stood inches away from him… and inches above him.
“Pete, get your ass back over here!”
The boy didn’t hear the panic in his voice.
“I said, let ‘em fight,” Gabe coldly reminded him.
The man ground his bottom lip, too scared to call for Pete again.
“August,” Gabe spoke in a calm and forceful tone, “reach in that cart and get your toy. And if that kid tries to stop you, beat the shit out of him. It’s your toy, August. Don’t let him do this to you and get away with it.”
The boy glared at August, daring him to move. August reached forward with a shaky hand and put it back on the cart, keeping his eyes on the boy. The boy easily snatched August’s hand away and then shoved him back, knocking him against Gabe and then sending him to his side.
“Get up,” Gabe told August. “Get up and fight.”
“I don’t want to!” August said, crying and slowly standing.
Gabe squatted, making himself eyelevel with August and thumping him in the chest with two fingers as he spoke:
“August, you listen to me and you listen well. That kid has your toy, and that’s not just any old toy. That toy is your friend, Zoggy. Zoggy was the only friend you had after your mom died, and he was the only friend you had when the state tossed you around like a Frisbee to different homes, and if you don’t fight to get him back, if you don’t fight to keep your friend in your life, then you’re a shitty friend, August. It doesn’t matter that he’s bigger than you, and it doesn’t matter that you’re scared, and it doesn’t matter if he kicks your ass. It only matters that you fight back, August. Win or lose, fight for your friend.”
August looked away from Gabe and back at the boy blocking his path to the shopping cart… with Zoggy inside it.
He’s my friend. My friend that my mommy-in-heaven gave me, before… before… You can’t have my friend. Mommy-in-heaven gave him to me. You can’t have my friend… “You can’t have my friend!”
August charged, and his tears were now angry ones. He hit the boy in the stomach as hard as he could with an open hand, not knowing that fists are more effective. The boy, however, knew about fists’ effectiveness, and he planted one squarely on August’s nose and knocked him down again. August was too angry to realize he was bleeding from both nostrils.
Gabe watched in silence.
August got up and charged again.
August slapped the kid in the gut again and met the same trounced fate on the sidewalk. A fist to his gut had knocked him breathless. He got up again and ran towards the boy, slapping wildly and screaming:
“You can’t have my friend! You can’t have my friend!”
The boy grabbed both of August’s flailing arms and easily held them, right as he kneed August in the balls.
August doubled over and would’ve crashed on the concrete again had the boy not been holding him by his arms. The boy tried to steady August’s writhing body for another knee to the balls… as Gabe intervened:
“Let him go.”
The boy was too focused on trying to hurt August’s balls to hear Gabe telling him to let go. Gabe grasped the boy’s hands with enough force to tear them off August’s hands, and August toppled to the sidewalk holding his aching balls. Gabe firmly moved the boy out of place, reached inside the cart, and took Zoggy.
“You and your boy should go now,” Gabe said.
“Come on, Pete,” the old man commanded, still fixated on Gabe’s left pocket.
“But dad…”
The boy’s protest was cut short by a blow to the ear from the old man.
“We’re leaving, Pete, and I’ll beat your ass if you say another word!”
The old man used one hand to push his cart away from Gabe and August and his other to pull Pete with him. Once they were gone, Gabe righted August on his feet and asked:
“First time you been hit in the balls?”
August, unable to hold back tears and trying not to make childish blubbering noises, only nodded yes.
Gabe handed him Zoggy and said:
“Here’s your friend, August. Come over here. I want you to see something.”
Gabe took him to his Mercedes and angled its passenger side mirror so that August could see his bloody nose.
“That’s what you got for fighting. You got your nose busted. Fighting always comes with a price, and you just paid it. But you paid it for someone who mattered to you, and you should be proud of yourself. Like I am.”
Gabe ruffled August’s hair and smiled at him. August stared wide eyed at his reflection, taking in the outcome of his first fight. He looked busted up, but he didn’t feel busted up. He felt relieved. Relieved that it was over, certainly, and relieved that he had Zoggy back. But also relieved that he’d been able to do it. To fight for someone who mattered. He smiled back at Gabe and found himself sharing in Gabe’s pride.
The two went back inside the apartment, and Gabe wasn’t surprised to see that his “friend” had left while August had been fighting. But he was pleased enough with August’s gumption to let the matter drop. His cell rang, and he saw his adoptive mother, Opal, was calling. He hadn’t talked to her in weeks, and he was curious about why she was calling.
“Hello, Mother.”
The word nearly choked him.
“Gabriel! So good to hear your voice. You never call, and I never see you these days. Say, when are you coming over for dinner? I cook and I cook every night, and you’re never here!”
He knew this was a lie. The Family’s maids split cooking duties, along with the home’s other chores. This freed up Opal for time with the pool boy, councilmen and aldermen, and even one of the mechanics at Lefty’s (she had a thing for his rough hands).
“Ah, one of these days, one of these days,” Gabe responded noncommittally.
“Just wanted to let you know that Andrew Baker wants to get in touch with you. He went to your place in Back Bay and didn’t see you there. He stopped by today and told me to let you know he urgen
tly needs to speak with you.”
Gabe remembered the speeding ticket Baker’d written him, and he interpreted this news that Baker was looking for him as a threat. Gabe didn’t know that Baker was desperately trying to apologize for the ticket to appease Victor.
“I’ll call him,” was all Gabe said.
“Oh, and your father complains he never sees you.”
This didn’t resonate well. His “father” only wanted to see him for business related reasons. Indeed, his father had only adopted him for business related reasons. If his father was griping about his absent son, then he wasn’t making himself available enough. And that meant he was tempting his father to dispatch lackeys to locate him.
“He’s a busy man. He wouldn’t see me if I was there,” Gabe fished, hoping for clues about Victor’s recent schedule.
“Nonsense. He’s been home early for the past couple of evenings, and he’s in his study at the moment.” (She hid her resentment with wifely pleasure. The old fucker’s hanging around was interfering with her Cougar prowl.)
He was intrigued and slightly worried to hear that Victor was knocking off work early. That wasn’t like him. He needed to see Victor in person to read his vibe.
“Well, what are you making me for supper tomorrow night?” he asked.
“Depends. What are you eating?”
“I suppose I’m eating your world famous spaghetti and meatballs.” (More like Elena and Carmen’s spaghetti and meatballs, he knew, remembering two of the Family’s maids.)
“I’ll have it ready for you, dear,” she said, silently cursing tomorrow, because it too would now be an evening without a young lover.
His brain buzzed: August! August! August! What am I going to do with August! He didn’t want Victor to know he had August, but he couldn’t check out Victor’s mood without seeing the man in person, and that meant bringing August along.
“By the way, I’m bringing someone special with me.”
“Who’s the lucky lady?”
“I didn’t say it was a lady, and I think I’m the lucky one. I guess it’s time you found out that I’m a father!”